The Karaoke Party

Last night, Man about the house and Lady of the house went out. Mimi suggested that we have a karaoke party as she still had the equipment left over from the Commotion Club from the time that we lived in Portugal.


I thought that it was a bit risky but Harvey said that he would sit on the window-ledge and look out for the return of the humans.

We all agreed that each of us could choose some of our favourite music but this proved to be rather controversial!

I started off with 'Son of my father' by Chicory Tip which went down very well. Fifi, exclaimed, 'Sacre bleu Monsieur. L'homme avez un grand mullet!'

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YnTse_Hoa10

'Oui - c'est vrai!'

'Incroyable! Manifique!' responded the other French minxes.

Mog selected Runaway Boys by The Stray Cats which was an excellent choice. Wow, that cat's fur's amazing!



http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rowbf-0tCcA

So it was all going swimmingly when Kiki put on 'Non, je ne regrette rien.' Serek went completely catalistic, hissing that he wasn't going to listen to that bloody (excuse my French) Edith Piaf gargle her way through the French resistance song book all night. See what you think.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kFRuLFR91e4

Well, I have to tell you that things turned rather ugly and there was a bit of a cat fight between Kiki and Serek. If wooden cats had fur, they'd both be as bald as coots by now but luckily, there was only minor paint damage.

Eventually, a compromise was reached when we agreed that Edith Piaf was out but a little Charles Aznavour (in moderation) would be acceptable.

We rounded off the evening friends and in high spirits as we all joined in to 'Tiger Feet' by Mud.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=z7tpz3NAr6k

We have a small shrine dedicated to Les Gray - the singer from Mud. He often used to come into The Cataleiro Restaurant where we worked, with Noddy Holder from Slade. As I recall, they were both partial to steak and kidney pudding.

God bless you Les. It'll be lonely this Christmas without you.

Finally, we are building up our collection of cat music. If you have any suggested additions, let me know.

Here is the list so far:

Catatonia Road Rage

Cat Stevens Mathew and son

Stray Cats Runaway Boys

Ertha Kitt Old Fashioned Girl

Mud Tiger Feet

Mud The cat crept in

Squeeze Cool for cats

Tom Jones What's new pussycat?

Meow's apartment

Meow has his own apartment but it's very small. In fact, it's so small that if you are not careful, you will be outside again before you've gone in. It looks smaller than it is and in reality it actually is smaller than it is, which is very small indeed.

Meow has made a number of space saving adaptations. His best idea was the One Sock Washer. This is a miniaturised washing machine that is just large enough to wash one sock at a time. However, as cats have four paws, that's four days to wash a complete set. Being a very clean cat, he has two sets of socks but this means that he has had to move to an eight day week.

He calls the eighth day Rondo ONZ which is fair enough but now his other days are out of sync. with those of us operating on a seven day week. It makes arrangements very difficult as we have to clarify, for example, whose Tuesday we mean.

Meow's worst idea was the Space Saving Bowl. I don't think he gave it enough thought. He simply cut his bowl in half which saved half the space but lost all of the milk. Of course, you could lick it off the floor but he's not a bin cat. Now he uses an egg cup and a straw which I think is an improvement and saves on milk, particularly as he is yet to master the technique.

Welcome to my world

Hello. My name's Bob and I'm a wooden cat. Blogging isn't really my bowl of milk but lately, I've had a lot of time on my paws and I'm still only on my first life.


I live in the Warsaw, which is in Poland, half way between Catalunya and Katmandu. I have a vantage point on a high shelf from where I can see outside and down to the Skup.
Skup monsters run on alcohol and the area is awash with them. Each day, a tide of them drift in, picking over the rubbish and collecting bags full of beer cans to be taken to the skup and converted into more beer. It's called recycling.


In our apartment, there are other wooden cats; Mimi, Fifi and Kiki are three French cats who sit on a green floral sofa gossiping and giggling. They are very pretentious and will only speak french - Parisian at that.


Then there's Dorota, a Polish Siamese who is rather over-decorated and wears too much make up for any self-respecting wooden cat (cheap perfume too). Quite different from K3. That's Meow, Mog and Serek, a group of intellectuals that I have been teaching Catalan to at the University of Koreki. In fact, most of the time we never start the lesson but discuss notions, potions and pussy cat lotions.


There is also a black furry, moving animal here. Too big for a hamster but smaller than a horse. It's name is Harvey and he could be a cat but the lady of the house refers to him as 'the rodent', which is about the most insulting thing that you can say to a cat. He has an imaginary friend called Barney who, he asures me is nothing like Robert Mugabe and has never even been to Zimbabwe but apparently, smokes, swears and has many nights on the tiles.


I have to go now as the Man about the house has just come in and if he knows I'm writing a blog, he will be jealous.